After a couple of days of rain and sea mists – yes it can come even to Seaford – the sun is out in a clear blue sky. Seems so strange to sit in hospital looking out at the lovely day outside and yet look around inside and everyone’s sitting and lying around with litres of poison being pumped into their bodies. This time for me it’ll be a third more than the first batch so slightly concerned at the possible after effects. And you should see the size of chemo pills I need to take over the next two days. In the old currency they’re an inch long.
Fun to confirm how taking chemo in hospital is not a natural state. Our great friend, John Downie has long tried to get Jenny and I tuned into the perfect tic toc required to keep Jenny’s grandfather’s old clock going in New Road. And to John I can say, that the tic tic of the chemo as it’s pumped in is certainly not rhythmic. It’s completely irregular.
Great words of wisdom yesterday came from Philip Carr Gomm, the Chief Druid which were very timely. Philip brings a wonderfully spiritual insight into everything. He said not to fight pain or despair but to embrace it to reduce its strength and that certainly explains a lot of my current experiences. My mind is completely decluttered of all that’s bad and distracting. Instead sitting here with the constant background of the waves opens up all the wonderful values of nature all the way to the horizon.
Back home after chemo and with doors open even at 6pm. Thank goodness for the microclimate of Seaford. Then supper with Jenny, Simon and Annabel.
Woke up this morning with more energy than for weeks so maybe this is what Adam calls his green day straight after chemo. I shall make the most of it with today’s acupuncture and then maybe a trip to Brighton with Annabel and Simon to visit a ‘vape’ friend to explore a more direct way of taking Nigella’s liquid. This really has become a trip through so many new experiences
The hospital is a giant octopus swallowing us all up as we stream through the doors. Walking, limping, shuffling, zimmer frames and wheelchairs. We disappear down the long, hygienically cleaned tentacles to arrive at the oncology sucker end to find a full Outpatients area.
Walking past the closed Interview doors with signs ‘Interview taking place. Please do not disturb‘ reminds me that a few weeks ago we sat there and heard the medical pronouncement in language that still is not clear. More tense young and old faces strain around the experts for their results and on the table, a coloured box has tissues pulled out in readiness.
A nurse brings more chairs to line up in the corridor as patients are standing, waiting for treatment.
The pen-smeared whiteboard has announcements.
‘1063 people visiting our clinic last month.. 0 (that’s zero) did not turn up for appointments.’
I wonder if they count patients that have ‘passed on’. Surely they must get some surprise cancellations?
Two jolly, grey haired ladies chat about their chemo.
‘My friend sailed through it and lost some weight. I’m really strong, never been ill, so I’m expecting good results.’
Another talks of her cruise to Norway in a few weeks. When Mark tried to get travel insurance, cruises were not covered and he had a ‘precondition’ so they needed to get a doctor’s note before they would consider us..
The day time TV choice in the waiting room shows High Court enforcement officers visiting sad debtors running unsuccessful businesses. Then another soul sapping programme on break ins with burglars being caught on CCTV.
There’s the usual reading matter in the racks of Macmillan Cancer Support – ‘Give up smoking, Body image and cancer, Travel and cancer.’ Waterstone’s could display them under Misery Reads.
Why can’t we have a Cancer Joke Book? Here’s one from www
Old man goes to the doctor. The doctor says “The test results are back, and I’m sad to say you have cancer and Alzheimer’s.”. The old man says “Phew! At least it’s not cancer!”
Or some Poems in the Waiting room like I see in the dentist.
Two hours after arrival, I leave Mark still waiting for treatment. There are two people ahead of him, and I find the injection of toxins too traumatic to watch.
If you’ve got any jokes or poems that might please, do email us!
Joke reply from Sarah
“People who joke about cancer have no sense of tumor” .